City of Screams by James Rollins Read Free Book Online Page A

bursting from that tiny face when he knelt and offered it to her. He recalled thinking how much sunlight could be trapped in such a little body, that it could shine so brilliantly, fuel such simple joy at a gift of leather and cloth.
    He searched her face now, looking for that sunshine.
    But only darkness stared back at him.
    She hissed, showing teeth.
    â€œAzubah,” he pleaded.
    Eyes, once as calm and beautiful as a fawn’s, glared at him with feral hatred. She drew in a deep breath and spat hot blood in his face.
    He staggered, dazed by the silken feel, the iron smell of the blood. With one shaking hand, he wiped his face. He knelt before her and used a cloth to gently brush blood from her chin, then flung the soiled rag far away.
    Then he heard it.
    So did she.
    Eleazar and Azubah both jerked their heads. In the tomb, they alone heard screams from atop the mountain. They alone knew that the Romans had broken through the stronghold’s defenses.
    The slaughter above had begun.
    The robed one noted their movement and knew what it meant. “We have no more time.”
    Eleazar looked to the older man in the dusty brown robe, their leader, the one who had demanded that this child be baptized amid such horror. Age etched the leader’s bearded face. Solemn, impenetrable eyes closed. His lips moved in silent prayer. His face shone with the surety of a man free of doubt.
    Finally, those blessed eyes opened again and found Eleazar’s face, as if searching for his soul. It made him recall another stare from another man, many, many years before.
    Eleazar turned away in shame.
    The soldiers gathered around the open stone sarcophagus in the center of the tomb. It had been carved out of a single block of limestone, large enough to hold three grown men.
    But it would soon imprison only one small girl.
    Pyres of myrrh and frankincense smoldered at each corner. Through their fragrance Eleazar smelled darker scents: bitter salts and acrid spices gathered according to an ancient Essene text.
    All lay in terrible readiness.
    Eleazar bowed his head one final time, praying for another way.
    Take me, not her .
    But the ritual called for them all to play their roles.
    A Girl Corrupted of Innocence.
    A Knight of Christ.
    A Warrior of Man.
    The robed leader spoke. His graveled voice did not waver. “What must be done is God’s will. To protect her soul. And the souls of others. Take her!”
    But not all had come here willingly.
    Azubah yanked free of her captors’ hands and sprang for the door, swift as a fallow doe.
    Eleazar alone possessed the speed to catch her. He grabbed her thin wrist. She struggled against his grip, but he was stronger. Men closed in around them. She pulled the doll to her chest and sank to her knees. She looked so wretchedly small.
    Their leader gestured to a nearby soldier. “It must be done.”
    The soldier stepped forward and snatched Azubah’s arm, wrenching her doll away and tossing it aside.
    â€œNo!” she cried, her first word, forlorn, still sounding so much like a child, coming from her thin throat.
    She tore free again and surged forth with furious strength. She leaped upon the offending soldier, locking her legs around his waist. Teeth and nails tore at his face as she knocked him hard to the stone floor.
    Two solders rushed to his aid. They pulled the wild girl off and pinned her down.
    â€œTake her to the sepulcher!” the leader commanded.
    The two men holding her hesitated, plainly fearing to move. The child thrashed under them.
    Eleazar saw that her panic was not directed toward her captors. Her gaze remained fixed on what had been stolen from her.
    He retrieved the tattered figure of her doll and held it in front of her bloody face. It had quieted her many times when she was younger. He strove to block out memories of her playing in the clear sunshine with her laughing sisters and this doll. The toy trembled in his hand.
    Her gaze softened into a